A Walk in the Park
by ElleMe
Summary: Mary and Sherlock spend the day with Rosie. This story takes places in an alternate series 4 in which Mary lives and John stays faithful to her. Pretty Fluffy. (Mary/Sherlock Friendship)


September, for whatever reason, was an exceptionally busy time for Sherlock Holmes. A combination of ending summer romances, parents with more free time thanks to children returning to school, and cooler weather seemed to keep clients pouring through the doors of 221B. However, on this particular morning, the flat was silent.

Fingers steepled, Sherlock sat unmoving in his chair staring forward with still eyes. "Mrs. Hudson!" he yelled suddenly.

Moments after, he heard the landlady's feet shuffling up the stairs accompanied by a distinctly breathy grumbling. It made him smirk. "I do have a phone, you know," she said coming through the door. "You'll text every other breathing person in this world, but still shout for me."

"I'd like two ounces of marijuana when you have a moment," he requested succinctly, ignoring her rant.

"What?"

"If you're out, it can wait until Monday. It's for a case, a rather unimportant one."

She shot him a scathing but unimpressed look. "Sherlock Holmes, for the last time, I do not have—"

"What time is it?" he abruptly interrupted.

Mrs. Hudson rolled her eyes and checked her watch. "Half ten." He gave only an irritated scoff of disappointment in return. "Why don't you go out and enjoy the day," she suggested, moving toward the window. In one strong thrust, she muscled it up and breathed a sigh of relief at the fresh air.

Sherlock did not turn around. "Can't. Busy."

"I'm sure that chair can do without you for a couple hours," she replied. Just then, they heard the front door open downstairs, followed by soft footsteps coming up the steps. "Is that a client?"

"No doorbell, unrushed pace, extra weight distributed to the right foot based on the volume of the wood's creak….No, not a client."

"Mary," Mrs. Hudson greeted happily when the blonde woman made it to the second floor with Rosie in her arms. "And you brought the baby, hello darling!"

Mary smiled brightly as the landlady cooed at Rosie, tickling her tummy through the violet sweater she wore. "Morning Mrs. Hudson, hi Sherlock."

"Good morning Mary…" Sherlock responded, coming over to the ladies.

"I hope you've come to take him out," Mrs. Hudson said, still playing with Rosie. "He says he's busy, but we know that's a load of old rubbish. Don't we, Rosie…yes we do…"

"I don't need to be taken out," he protested.

"Well that's a shame," Mary said, adjusting the baby on her hip—her right hip. "Because this little girl spent the morning pointing to your picture on the coffee table, making it quite clear she wanted to visit her Uncle Sherlock."

The consulting detective's face softened ever so subtly, but enough for Mary and Mrs. Hudson to share a knowing smile—which went unnoticed by Sherlock. "At six months old, it's highly unlikely a child is able to reconcile in-person facial recognition with a two-dimensional image. Although, based on the data I've collected, her cognitive processes are months ahead of most children her age, not that I'm surprised…." He rubbed Rosie's hand softly with his thumb. "Did she really make it _clear_?"

"She did," Mary answered affirmatively, and then leaned in closer to Sherlock. "And it took me one hour, two nappy changes, and three spit-up-on shirts to get her ready this morning, so if you think _I'm_ taking no for answer then you're off your tits." She only murmured that last part.

"I'll get my coat."

"Wonderful," Mary said with a knowingly angelic smile.

"She's got John's nose, doesn't she…" Mrs. Hudson mused when Sherlock had gone. "Ohh, she's such a beauty, Mary."

"Thank you." The younger woman beamed graciously.

"Where's John today?"

"Stockport. He left last night…Harry's moved up there and he's helping her get settled in. He'll be back tomorrow. I thought Sherlock could use some company."

"Ah, well bring Rosie by after," Mrs. Hudson replied kindly, rubbing her knuckle softly over the baby's cheek. "She's getting too big too fast."

Mary nodded in agreement just as Sherlock reappeared, clad in his Belstaff. "Are you not going to wear the hat? Rosie loves the hat."

Unfortunately, the ladies were unable to convince him to don the deerstalker, however they did manage to get him to put it in his pocket—a prospective victory to what might later be a definitive one. Mary had a folded-up pram and heavily stocked changing bag waiting for them downstairs. "Could you take her for a moment?" she asked Sherlock, trying to move it all out the door.

Sherlock took the girl with the small, discreet smile he was known for. "Hello Rosie, I trust you're through vomiting on shirts for today?"

"Don't see how she could have anything left," Mary interjected, setting up the pram on the sidewalk in front of 221B.

"We should focus on her color recognition while the skies are clear. Apparently infants don't see color until they're between four and six months old, which means our extensive work with colored blocks during months two and three were completely wasted.

Mary just chuckled. "I know."

He turned to her with surprise crinkling his brow. "You know? Did John know as well?"

"Yeah, I think so…" she answered indifferently.

"Then why didn't either of you stop me?"

"Because it was adorable and made Rosie laugh; you juggling the blocks, reciting each color every time it went up…"

Sherlock directed his attention toward Rosie. "Well Rosie, I do hope you took something away from that little activity. We'll be revisiting it soon. This time you'll have to do some of the work." Rosie lunged forward and grabbed Sherlock's nose with squeaky giggles following her little trick. Sherlock couldn't help but smile.

"Right, that's sorted," Mary said, taking a look at her handiwork. It was a brand new pram and she and John were still getting used to its astonishingly challenging setup. Most days they just quit assembling it halfway through and opted to carry the baby. "Fancy a walk in the park?"

"Don't see why not," he responded, bouncing Rosie a bit in his arms. "I did promise her birds last week. She seems to favor them over insects, though I don't understand why."

"Well," Mary said, smiling as she took her daughter back. "If it's birds you promised her…"

OOOOO

A slow breeze passed through Regent's Park, making Rosie babble softly at the air. Sherlock looked over at the mother and child with whom he shared the bench, seeing a quiet calmness on Mary's face as she stared at the water—a look that was becoming more and more common these days. "Does it ever get tedious?"

"Does what get tedious?" Mary asked, looking up at him while she rubbed soft circles on her daughter's back.

He watched the little girl squirm in her lamb-speckled jumper. "Keeping another human alive all the time."

Mary chuckled, knowing Sherlock wouldn't understand why. "No it doesn't."

He gave a miniscule shrug. "I suppose you've had the practice with John."

"As he's had with you," she quipped. "Take her a minute, would you?" Mary handed Rosie over to the detective, freeing her hands to rummage through the baby bag at her feet.

In the privacy of the flat, Sherlock was very often caught bouncing his goddaughter on his knee and giving her wide-eyed, exaggerated smiles just to get one in return, but in the park—in public—he took a slightly different approach. The last thing he needed was his photograph in the paper with a deerstalker superimposed onto his head and a headline across it reading: _Babysitter Holmes_ or _Sherlock Home-maker._

Mary found what she was looking for in the bag and popped the pacifier into Rosie's mouth. "There…she's starting to teeth now, she gets this look when they start bothering her. A friend at work told me a teething child is worse than labor. If that ends up being true I'll take the epidural this time."

Sherlock made a mental note to start work on a serum to relieve some of the infant's discomfort. Or invest in some noise-cancelling headphones. "You and John have both seen your fair share of bullet wounds and stabbings, I'm sure it's nothing you can't handle."

A twinge of guilt hit her when he said that, although she knew it wasn't his intent. Mary looked away at first, taking a breath, but then turned back to face Sherlock. "Can I ask you something?" He hadn't expected the sudden seriousness, but he quickly deduced where it was coming from. "Did your parents ever find out?" she asked, meeting his eyes.

"Find out?"

"Who shot you…" she clarified. "Did they know?"

"No, no," Sherlock said, waving it off. "Mycroft took care of that. They think it was the Serbian government. He's assured them all will—"

"Mycroft knew?"

"Of course he knew," Sherlock replied obviously.

Mary furrowed her brow incredulously after mulling it over for a second. "And he didn't….mind?"

Sherlock shrugged. "It was an inconvenience. The obligatory hospital visits occasionally clashed with his barbershop quartet practices."

"You're joking."

"Oh, if we could be so lucky... They wear vests, stand in a formation, sing… covers…"

"So, he doesn't have me on some, I don't know, list?" She didn't feel threatened, oddly enough. Her questions came from a place of genuine curiosity.

Sherlock answered quickly. "No, there's no reason to think so. He was quite understanding about the whole thing."

"Understanding?" Sherlock nodded with an affirmative 'mhmm.' "But I shot his brother!"

"You had your reasons."

"You were shot in the _chest_."

"You were hormonal."

Mary tilted her head in amused disbelief and finally after a few moments, let out a laugh, and then another. The third one she thought would be quick, but it just kept going. Sherlock smiled to himself watching her become immersed in her own little giggle loop. It just went on and on, dying a little here and there, but then coming back even stronger. "Do they really wear vests?!" she finally said through the cackles. At that point, he had to join in, with his own brand of suppressed snickers of course.

OOOOO

The fortunate thing about the uncharacteristically good weather was that it made walking through the streets of London more enjoyable than usual. Mary especially appreciated it, considering walking with a pram leading the way was one of the few types of post-partum exercise for which she had the time (or energy.) It was a lovely thirty-minute trek from Regent's to Pinner Café where the three decided to lunch.

Just as they sat down to a shaded, outdoor table, a soft buzzing came from Mary's coat pocket. It was a text from John: _What's Rosie eating for lunch?_ She smiled to herself and texted back that she was about to have mashed carrots.

"He'll be home tonight," Sherlock said, leaning back in his chair as he watched a car pass slowly by them.

"John? He's not meant to come back 'til tomorrow afternoon."

"He's texted no less than seven times in the last two hours without prompting. Now he's asking what Rosie's eating for lunch while he should be moving furniture into his sister's new flat. He's a basket case."

"Alright there's no way you deduced he asked that," Mary responded brusquely, setting her phone back in her pocket.

"You're still underestimating me, after everything that's transpired in the last six months? Ajay, Vivian Norbury, the missing bear from Rosie's stuffed animal collection—"

"Humor me then," Mary coaxed with a playful smile.

Sherlock sighed and straightened up. "You picked up your phone, smiled discreetly at the name that showed up, glanced quickly at the jar of baby food in front of Rosie, and then typed 'mashed carrots.' Watching your fingers tap the screen made it fairly easy to guess that the words you were typing were the same as those on the jar.

Mary looked at him through lowered eyelids. "And how did you actually know?"

The detective pressed his lips together reluctantly. "He just texted me the same question."

"Ah." Mary's phone buzzed again, making her chuckle softly. "Make that eight unprompted texts."

Sherlock nodded, without surprise, and began unscrewing the lid off the jar of baby food Rosie was now pawing. Mary handed him her baby spoon and watched contentedly as he started to feed his niece her mashed carrots. She loved the way Rosie would open her mouth wide at the incoming spoon and then 'chew' happily and messily when she finally reached it. Prior to Rosie, she had never quite understood how parents could derive so much joy in watching their children complete the most basic of tasks—truth be told, she had more than once been overcome with a desire to ask parents what exactly was so impressive about a baby eating his or her lunch; such was no longer the case, as she sat watching her daughter eat, fighting the urge to applaud every mouthful.

"She likes it when you pretend the spoon is a plane," she suggested to Sherlock.

"What's a plane got to do with eating?" he asked.

"Well, nothing, she just likes it," the blonde replied, quickly switching to her baby voice. "Don't you, angel…yes…"

"No."

"What?"

"The baby talk, don't do that."

"Embarrassed for your reputation? Don't want people getting wind of what an old softie the great detective is?"

Sherlock sat up a bit straighter, and gave Rosie another spoonful of carrots before setting down the polka-dotted utensil. "Right now, Rosie's brain is a sponge tirelessly hardwiring the cognitive foundations she will use for the rest of her life. Every second of every day, G-protein-coupled receptors are working in overdrive to create a database of information. With nearly 20 billion neurons over you and me, frankly I envy her mind's equipping… though not necessarily its frivolity." Mary shot him a look. "My point being, of course, that using baby talk regularly will do nothing to accelerate her language acquisition. The silly sounds and phrasing are only things you'll later have to teach her to unlearn."

"Sherlock," Mary said, clearing her throat as her eyes went back to reading her menu.

"Hm?"

"Don't tell me how to talk to my daughter." She gave him the humored-but-firm look he had grown used to over the past couple years and then went back to deciding what to order. The detective agreed and resumed feeding Rosie. "And I know you use baby talk when you think no one else is listening."

His head snapped up at the woman across from him whose eyes still hadn't left the menu and saw a smile playing at her lips. Fully aware there was no response he could give that wouldn't make him sound silly, he looked back at the baby girl. She locked eyes briefly with her uncle and let out a joyful, exclamatory babble, turning the heads of several other patrons at nearby tables. Sherlock smiled at her and brought another spoonful of mashed carrots to the six-month old's mouth which ended up smeared all over her chin when she closed her lips too soon. The godfather gently cleaned the mess off her face with the spoon, unaware of Mary looking sweetly on at the two of them.

Their meals didn't take long once the orders were put in. Sherlock had the fish and chips, mostly for the chips. Mary got a cob salad, mostly because she was still working on losing the clingier baby weight. Mary cut up some pieces of her avocado and put them on a small plate in front of Rosie.

"Hang on, I thought you didn't eat when you have a case?" she asked, sipping at the glass of water the waiter had brought them. She then put a bit of avocado on her fork and fed it to the baby.

"Case? I don't have a case."

"I've seen you slip notes to four tramps already, you must be working on something."

"Oh that," Sherlock conceded. "That's nothing. Missing person's case, boring."

"Boring?"

"Run of the mill, nothing of note. It's one for Scotland Yard, if anything."

"But you're making inquiries?" Mary questioned.

"Yes."

"Why make inquiries if it's one for Scotland Yard?" Mary set the avocado fork down to answer yet another text from John, much to Rosie's perceivable disappointment. Sherlock picked it up, like a runner's baton, and took over feeding her so Mary could take at least one bite of her lunch.

Sherlock gave an apathetic shrug. "It's been a slow month."

Mary would have begun letting her curiosity go to work, but something else caught her eye first. "Wha-…Wiggins? Seriously?"

The man sitting at the table behind Sherlock turned around, bashfully caught. Sherlock rolled his eyes and groaned. "I told you to take the east-facing table!"

" _Sorry_ … I don't travel with a compass, do I…" Wiggins enunciated sulking. "She would have seen me anyway. She's sharp. It's annoying."

"What's going on?" Mary asked fairly, crossing her arms over her chest.

Sherlock sighed. "Wiggins was very plainly instructed to retrieve information about a case and bring it to me without being detected."

"By me?" Mary verified pointedly.

"Yes of course by you, there wouldn't be any challenge in going unnoticed by a normal person. It's a wager I had with my brother, one I have now lost."

"Wager? You said it was for practice," Wiggins spoke out, obviously offended.

"Why on Earth would you need practice evading a super agent?"

"Well, I –" it was beginning to sounds silly to him now too. "I thought you were getting me ready for something bigger, maybe an international case or –"

"Hold on," Mary cut in. "What's this wager with your brother?"

"Mycroft claimed his ability to teach is better than mine; I contested it, he suggested I pick a protégé and have them complete the very simple task of delivering information pertinent to whatever case I was working on at the time without being detected by you."

Mary was flattered, albeit a bit confused. "And what were the stakes?"

A childish dread came over Sherlock's face. "Loser will accompany my parents to _Phantom of the Opera_ when they're in town for the New Year."

Mary mouthed an amused 'ah.' "You know you could just lie and tell Mycroft I hadn't noticed him…"

"Look at the security cameras across the street, he already knows."

Mary and Wiggins both looked over and the security camera was indeed pointed directly at them; they half-expected Mycroft to make it wave. "But how could he have known we'd be here? We only picked it a little while ago." Sherlock just gave her a 'duh' look in return. "Right, sorry…"

Sherlock turned back to Wiggins. "I'll take the information anyway," he commanded, putting his hand out. "Go tail Lestrade or something. I'm going double or nothing with Mycroft—there's going to be a nine week run of _Wicked_ at Christmas." Wiggins passed him two folded up pieces of paper shamefully and headed off. Sherlock unfolded each and gave it a quick glance.

"Is that for the missing person's case?" Mary questioned, taking a moment to give Rosie another piece of avocado.

He felt a distinct satisfaction in knowing she would ask. "Yes."

"May I?"

"Be my guest." He passed one of the papers to her, but kept the other for himself.

She took it and looked at it in a scrutinizing manner. It was a list of times, with one in particular circled in blue ink— _4:30 p.m._ "These are train times…" she surmised, going by the pattern.

Sherlock concealed a smile. "Yes, they are."

Rosie began to fuss a bit, to which Mary reached out to rub soft circles on her arm and make some comforting 'shh's.' "It's alright, darling…"

"I've got her," Sherlock said, not wanting Mary to have to break her concentration. He lifted Rosie up out of the highchair that the restaurant had provided and soothed the infant, who seemed much happier freed from her seat. "Good girl, Rosie," he whispered.

"Is this circled one the time your bloke was last seen?"

"My sources say yes."

"Well what line was it?"

"That I can't say."

"Can't or won't?" Sherlock didn't respond, just went on playing with his goddaughter. "Alright, let me see the other," she requested, reaching for the second piece of paper still in his hand.

He pulled it away and in the light, she could see it was a printed picture of something. Maybe a person? "Nope, just the one."

"What?"

"I don't want motherhood slowing you down, Mary. I can't give you _all_ the pieces of the puzzle."

"But you've said nothing else about it…" she tried. "There's a man missing, and I only know it's a man because I guessed and you didn't deny it. He's connected to a 4:30 train. And apparently it's so easy Scotland Yard could sort it out."

"We can talk more about it later," Sherlock deflected, moving Rosie carefully to his knee. "For now, I'm hungry and you're foolishly giving up the first uninterrupted lunch you've had in six months. Eat now, work later."

She was flabbergasted that those words had just come out of Sherlock Holmes' mouth, but she supposed there was a thoughtfulness mixed in with his love of being mysterious. So, she conceded and went on eating her salad while Sherlock alternated between serving himself chips and serving Rosie pieces of avocado across from her.

Following lunch, Sherlock and Mary continued their walk, venturing down to Coram's Fields and then onto a leisurely stroll through the university buildings. They walked to Covent Garden, but didn't dare linger. Their tour reached its end at Whitehall Gardens, which seemed a logical resting point after pushing a pram for nearly two hours. Sitting in the park, staring through obscuring trees and bushes at the Thames, Mary finally convinced Sherlock to don the hat if only for a moment. Rosie, as promised, loved it and Mary felt they could call the day complete.

Another forty minutes of walking took them right back to Baker Street where, much to their relief, Mrs. Hudson was waiting with all the energy in the world to entertain Rosie who had snoozed for most of the trek home. Mary and Sherlock rested their tired legs at the kitchen table while the landlady played on the living room floor with the six month old, ecstatic at the way the baby could now scoot around on her bum and stomach.

"Mary, you look exhausted, let me make dinner for us," Mrs. Hudson offered, tickling Rosie with stuffed mouse. Mary politely declined at first, but the older woman insisted several more times and at that point it became much easier to just say yes-she was grateful for it anyhow.

"She never makes me dinner," Sherlock mumbled quietly to Mary.

"That's because you don't have a baby," the landlady called from the other room.

Sherlock raised his brows. "People really pull out all the stops when there's an infant involved."

Mary chuckled and leaned back in her chair. "It's one of the perks. Not that you should talk...you did wear the hat today."

He ignored her and went to the cupboard for a package of biscuits he knew she had hiding somewhere.

OOOOO

Dinner was wonderful, not that Mary was surprised. Mrs. Hudson even let Sherlock join in, though she didn't make it known she would until the last second. She considered it her revenge for his morning behavior. As the sun started to go down outside the windows of 221, Mary thanked Mrs. Hudson profusely and bundled up Rosie.

"Well," Mary said, getting the little girl secured in her car seat. "We'll have to do this again." Sherlock gave a condoning look. "Are you going to tell me anything more about your case?"

"Telling you would do nothing to sharpen your already suffering skills."

Mary bit the inside of her cheek with a playfully annoyed expression. "Fine, though that's probably for the best. Goodnight Sherlock." She closed Rosie's door, letting the detective get in a quick wave first and pulled open her own. That's when it hit her. She turned back around to him slowly with an unmistakable look of realization. " _Missing_ person's case?"

Sherlock smiled inwardly. "Technically yes."

"You bastard…" A grin broke out on her face. "But how did you—"

"You can't seriously believe my homeless network operates only within the confines of London…it does stretch into other places when necessary."

"Stockport?"

"Occasionally."

She brought two fists to her hips in disbelief. "Does he know?"

"No, of course not," Sherlock replied in an obvious tone. "He's exceptionally unsuspecting."

Mary smiled widely and shook her head. "Well I guess I should be going home then…How sure are you about this?"

"Ninety percent, factoring human error."

She dropped her hands with another smile. "Goodnight Sherlock." With that, Mary got in the car and pulled away from 221B. Sherlock watched the taillights turn left at the top of the street, slid his hands into his pockets, and strolled off in the opposite direction with a smile hidden behind the upturned collar of his Belstaff.

OOOOO

It was nearly eight o' clock when Mary made it back home. Rosie had fallen asleep on the car ride, for which Mary really couldn't blame her. After the day they had had, she was ready for bed herself. With mastered meticulousness, Mary eased the infant out of her car seat and made her way slowly up the steps, careful not to wake her. Although, when she got to the front door, she knew right away she was going to have to do it anyway.

Light in the peephole. Sherlock was right.

A smile stretched into Mary's cheeks as she unlocked the door. "Now who are we going to find in here?" she whispered rhetorically to her sleeping baby. Her smile grew tenfold when she pushed the door open to find exactly what she thought she would. "Daddy's home!" she announced, in the same exalted whisper.

John got quickly up from the chair he had been reading in and came to meet his girls. "Yes, he is…" he said with a tired smile of his own. He gave Mary a quick peck before taking Rosie. He kissed her head several times, and exhaled a contented sigh at finally having his daughter back in his arms. "I was hoping it'd be a surprise, but you don't look surprised."

"Aww, sorry hun, Sherlock _may_ have predicted it," Mary said with an apologetic look, though that could hardly mask her elation at John being back. "Harry's all moved in, then?"

"Yeah, yeah…well almost," he answered, now paying much more attention to the baby. "You two were out late," he whispered to the sleeping infant as he rocked slowly back and forth—something he lately did out of habit rather than necessity.

"Mrs. Hudson insisted on dinner, I didn't think you'd be here waiting _just yet_. Did you take a jet out of Stockport?"

John chuckled and planted another kiss on Rosie's soft blonde hair while Mary removed her jacket. "I took the 4:30 train out, only got back about an hour ago."

After not having had the opportunity the night before, John relished the chance to put Rosie to bed. Secretly he hoped she would wake up sometime during the process, but much to his dismay she never did. She truly had had a packed day, though he knew he'd have the chance during the night when her wails woke him and Mary.

"She's down," he reported to his wife, coming into their bedroom.

"Any fuss?" Mary asked from her seat on the edge of the bed.

"None," John answered. "I debated waking her up, but I—"

"Decided to save masochism for another night?"

"Yeah," he replied with a small look of disappointment. "No need to play with fire."

John went into the bathroom to do his nightly routine—change clothes, brush teeth, wash face, go to bed. After having to make due in Harry's extraordinarily tiny and criminally understocked new bathroom the night before, he was glad to have his own setup again. It was the military man in him. Upon finishing washing his face, John looked up into the bathroom mirror and found Mary's smiling reflection staring back at him—evidently, she'd been watching. He returned a small, knowing smile. "Go on then, you can say it."

"Say what?" she asked, still smiling as her husband walked out of the adjoining bathroom, drying his hands with a face cloth.

He looked at her with uncertainty that she genuinely didn't seem to know what he meant. "Well, it's a bit pathetic, isn't it?"

"What is?"

John cocked his head abashedly to the side. Was she really going to make him say it? Apparently. "That it's the first time I'm away from Rosie and I didn't even make it 48 hours." He tossed the towel into the bathroom hamper. "And you're here smiling, probably wondering when I became one of those mental parents who can't be away from his baby for a day without pissing himself."

"John," Mary said comfortingly, but also with a scolding click of her tongue. "That's not why I was smiling at you."

"Oh no?" he replied disbelievingly, thinking how she _should_ have been.

"No, I'm smiling because I'm happy you're back. And so is Rosie, she missed you."

"Well, I missed her." John put his hands on his hips and leaned back against the bathroom doorframe. "Do you know I was out last night getting a takeaway for Harry and me, and I heard a baby cry on the corner…sodding knife in the heart."

"Well yeah, baby cries are violent that way."

"And when I asked you to put her on the phone last night…I didn't even talk to her, I just listened to her breathe." He looked expressionlessly at the air in front of him and shook his head at his own foolishness. "I'm ridiculous."

Mary's heart could have melted, but she didn't dare tell him that—not now. "John, you are not ridiculous. You're lovely, and a brilliant dad. And our daughter is lucky to have someone who misses her _that_ much…especially since, you know, she's just so needy all the time…" Mary's mock-disgusted face seemed to cheer him up a bit.

He smiled appreciatively, if still feeling a bit silly. "You know I missed you too, right?"

"Ahh, there he goes…" she heckled, throwing her hands exaggeratedly in the air. "Feeling sorry for me, are you?"

"I mean it," he said more lightheartedly now, letting a smile build on his face.

"No, no, it's alright… I'm okay being the afterthought, it's only fair really," she teased. "I can get comfortable in a second place position to Rosie."

John chuckled. "Oh really?"

"Yes, of course…I've had a taste of it already actually, since lately Rosie seems to prefer the loving arms of her stuffed dog over mine. So honestly, it's on-brand."

John pressed his lips into a smile and stared lovingly at his wife, hoping she could see his sincerity. "I did miss you."

She eyed him as he walked over to where she sat, before lightheartedly giving in. "Yeah alright, I suppose I missed you too."

"Ahh good." John smiled again and clumsily maneuvered onto the edge of the bed so his knees were on either side of Mary, making her fall back laughing. "Because for a second, I thought I'd have to prove my love."

"Oh god, imagine the hassle that'd have been," she replied in dramatic relief, scooting back as he crawled over her, intentionally graceless and chuckling all the way.

They traded one-liners through quiet laughs until John enveloped her in his arms and pushed the night's first kiss into her lips, which Mary happily reciprocated. "You know, it might take a while for me to actually believe I rank higher than the stuffed dog," she remarked, wrapping her arms tightly around the body on top of her.

"I've got ages," he returned, coming in for another kiss.


End file.
